


All Guilty

by lilsmartass



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, marauder era, minor (very slight) hints of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsmartass/pseuds/lilsmartass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Written for my Wildcard square of Dark Bingo, for which I chose Betrayal. They were all guilty of treachery, but only one is remembered for it. Marauder era.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Guilty

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: PG-13
> 
> Disclaimer: To my continuing disappointment, I don’t own the Harry Potter characters.
> 
> Warning/Spoilers: Spoilers for The Prisoner of Azkaban. Warnings for oblique reference to child abuse, insinuated character death and some profanity.
> 
> Genre: Angst, dark,

** All Guilty **

****

 

**Remus**

Remus felt his stomach knot as Professor McGonagall raised a sceptical eyebrow as she looked between the small group. “I know one of you was responsible,” she said, her tone icy, nostrils white, “and if I am obliged to ask one more time, the consequences will be severe.”

“Professor,” began James, in an admirably steady tone, “You really have no proof-”

“Be quiet Potter! I hardly need proof when I have the idiotic grins of you and your faithful sidekick Black to lead me right to you.”

James and Sirius swapped a look, but the seriousness of the situation was not enough to quell yet another grin from touching both their lips. There were pranks and there were pranks, and this one, unintentional though it had been (well, mostly) was brilliant, and certain to be remembered in Hogwarts legend. James’ eyes glazed over slightly as he allowed himself to imagine an updated version of _Hogwarts, A History_ containing a page devoted to their escapades. He barely restrained himself from giving Peter a complimentary pat on the back.

“It is unusual,” McGonagall continued, stressing the words, “That I have to discipline a group of first years as often as I have seen you four. I find myself thinking, that some of you do not deserve admittance. It would be unfortunate if I had to start threatening expulsions.”

The smirking arrogance James and Sirius had been wearing was replaced with mild apprehension, Peter looked terrified, but Remus’ stomach dropped to his feet. McGonagall had worded her statement to sound very general, and her eyes were riveted on James, whose innocent look was not as well perfected as Sirius’ and who looked thoroughly pleased with himself, but Remus just _knew_ her warning was meant for him. Worse, she was right. He knew how much trouble Dumbledore had gone to to have him admitted to the school. It was a poor way to repay such kindness to do nothing but disrupt school running.

He couldn’t take the blame himself though. He had been with Professor Slughorn when this all happened. He suspected he’d only been called into McGonagall’s office at all because it would be assumed that he at least knew who had turned every goblet in the Great Hall into a mouse. She was right, he did...but it would have been easier if he could claim the magic for himself.

Her disapproving gaze swept all four of them this time, and her mouth pursed as she met his guilty, uncertain gaze. “No confessions? Very well. We shall have to bring the matter to Professor Dumbledore.”

“It was an accident Professor,” Remus spoke up softly.

His friends swivelled to look at him, even as McGonagall’s lips tightened further and she said, “I am well aware that you are not the perpetrator Mr. Lupin, so I suggest-”

“No, not me...but it was an accident.”

She did not soften. “And whose accident was it.”

Remus couldn’t meet her gaze, and he couldn’t bring himself to look even at his friends. He lowered his eyes to where his toes were scratching uneasily back and forth on the carpet in his too-small shoes. “Peter’s,” he all but whispered, the name tasting of his own treachery.  

**James**

James looked down at the younger boy with distrust and a hint of confusion in his eyes. “Why do you want to know where Sirius is? You two avoid each other normally.”

Regulus did not look intimidated in the slightest by the older boy. He folded his arms across his chest and scowled. “I’ve had an owl from home, and it’s vital I speak to my brother _at once_ Potter. Where is he?”

James bit his lip for a second, still uncertain. He knew there was no love lost between Sirius and his family, but that was all he knew. Sirius refused to talk about them at all. James had no idea if he might have sick, or even dying relatives, and the few times during the holidays or at the very beginning of term when he had caught sight on inexplicable marks marring Sirius’ back or shoulders or thighs told him that if this was a summons, he would be doing his friend no favours by preventing him from answering it. “I’ll go and find him and we’ll come and meet you,” he said.

Regulus’ lip curled in a sneer. “I’m sure my brother appreciates having his own bodyguard Potter, but this is a private, family matter.”

“He’s got detention,” James admitted reluctantly, “He’s down in the trophy room. He’ll be done in about an hour.” He could detect no lie in Regulus’ eyes, and, aside from the fact that the boy was Slytherin he had no reason to distrust him, but he still felt as if he had committed a breach of trust by disclosing Sirius’ location.

“Thank you,” said Regulus with heavy sarcasm, and left. Presumably to find something more interesting to do with his Saturday afternoon. James watched him go, uncertainty still churning in his stomach.

 _I’ll make sure I head down to the trophy room at around the same time_ , he promised himself. Looking around for something to occupy him until then, he spotted Evans, sunning herself on one of the banks of the lake. The uncertainty in his stomach was replaced by something else, and his cheeks heated slightly as he furtively watched her, her head thrown back to laugh and red curls blowing in the light breeze. He seized his courage and strutted towards her.

Two hours later, when Lily finally tired of his efforts to convince her to accompany him on the next Hogsmede weekend, and finally slapped him; he retreated in sulky embarrassment to the dormitory. His spirits fell further when he met Sirius there trying valiantly to stanch a split lip with a towel. An ambush, he said, a group of Slytherins. He wasn’t sure exactly which ones, but one of them had said something about this being revenge for what they’d done to Snivillus.

James helped him clean the blood up, and went to the kitchens to charm an icepack out of the elves there to minimize his rapidly darkening eye. He convinced him to go to the hospital wing to get his wrist seen to by the simple expedient of pointing out that he couldn’t play quidditch if it was broken. He swore bloody vengeance on Slytherins in general, and Snivillus in particular. He helped Sirius hide the fact that he’d been bested from both Remus and Peter, even though he knew neither of them would care.

In all the years they were friends, he never gained the courage to tell Sirius that he was the one who’d told them where Sirius would be.   

**Sirius**

Sirius, though social by nature, was enjoying the rare chance to be alone as he wandered through the dewy grass, breath steaming in the cold, twilight air, to replace his broom in the shed.

“Black,” said a cold voice behind him.

He turned to find Snape standing there, leaning calmly against a tree, and cursed the fact that, as he had come straight from quidditch practice, he didn’t have his wand on him. “What do you want?” he demanded. He hadn’t spoken to any of the Slytherins since leaving home that summer.

“Nice broom,” commented Snape. “Not exactly up-to-the-minute though is it? The Potter’s not spring for a new broom for their little charity case?”

Sirius swallowed down the blood red mist which rose before his eyes. Magic would always win over fists, that much was fact, and as such, he had to assume that Snape had the advantage, and he refused to be beaten by Snivillus. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Snape said casually. “You and your cohorts won’t start sneaking about until dark. I will find out where you go, Black and when I do-”

He left the threat unfinished, and suddenly Sirius was done. This behaviour, this was exactly what he’d run away from, this aura of condescension and attempts to dominate that permeated even the simplest conversation. Snape wanted to know where they went. Fine. Sirius would enjoy watching him wet himself when he came face to face with Moony’s less socially acceptable form. Just the thought of that almost made him grin, but he swallowed it back, just as he had the urge to beat Snape into a bloody pulp. If Snape was to believe this, he had to sell it. Snape would never believe that he’d just _tell_ him where they were going.

“You think it’s funny to sneak around trying to get us expelled?” he said dangerously and almost laughed again when Snape took a hurried step back and drew his wand. “Think when you do you’ll have us over a barrel, don’t you _Snivillus_? Well I’ve got news for you, you’ll never be able to follow us, James and I are too good, and you’ll never be able to find us, because you’re too shit scared of the Whomping Willow to go anywhere near it let alone prod the knot on it with a flipping stick!” He widened his eyes slightly and stopped talking, as though with horrified realisation.

He watched Snape fight to keep the victory off his face, and to say something which might give the impression he hadn’t noticed the slip. “You and Potter aren’t half as good as you think,” he sneered.

Sirius permitted himself to relax, and to trade another insult before hurrying back to the common room. “Where’s Wormtail?” he asked looking around.

“Library,” James said with displeasure, “Something about having to finish the herbology thing because he’ll be too tired tomorrow since we’re going out tonight.”

Sirius wasn’t really listening. “We’ll pick him up on the way past. Listen Prongsie, I have to tell you what I just did Snivillus.”

James shifted his attention from the Gobstones he was contemplating with a wicked smile, “Do go on?”

“Remember his boggart? Little darling’s scared of werewolves. I might’ve just arranged for him to come face to face with one!” his chuckle tapered off when he registered the unadulterated horror on James’ face.

“Padfoot you didn’t send him to Moony? Please, please tell me you didn’t!”

“Why not? Bastard deserves it. He’s always following us around, telling tales. Let him see what he wants to so badly, maybe that’ll change his mind from tailing us.”

“You _idiot_!” snarled James, “Do you have any idea- Do you never _think_? If Moony bites him they’ll try him as a dangerous creature Sirius? He could go to Azkaban!”

Sirius whitened. “No,” he started.

James stood, knocking over his chair. “I’ve got to go and stop him.”

“I’ll come with you.”

James rounded on him, “I think you’ve done enough,” he said furiously before striding to the portrait hole.

Sirius sat at the table, white as a sheet and deathly silent, a litany of denial swirling around his head. He knew though, even if James could fix what he’d done, even if they managed to stop Snape from telling everyone, that he had turned Remus into what he feared the most. He had turned him into being nothing but a monster, and used him to harm others.

**Peter**

Peter huddled against the damp stone of the alley behind the pub. “You have new information,” said a voice from under the hood of his companion.”

“I-” Peter stammered, then stopped. Tears prickled uncomfortably at the corners of his eyes. More than anything else, he wanted to go to Dumbledore. But how could he now? He had been betraying the order for a year already; even Dumbledore wouldn’t help him after all that.

“Well?” said the voice, silkily. “Do you? Or do we need to have another little conversation about acceptable work ethics and fulfilling your obligations?” A long fingered hand caressed the wand it held, and Peter knew that he would never draw his own fast enough to prevent the Cruciatus from hitting him.

He looked around wildly; maybe there was someone who could help him. But there was a reason that they had chosen to have him apparate here at three in the morning. There was no one to help him, no one to care even if he did scream. He lowered his gaze and mumbled his damning answer.

“I didn’t quite catch that,” the voice said gently.

Peter was thankful he didn’t know who it was. It would have been much harder to look into the face of a person and utter the words, knowing the only thing they could bring. He screwed his eyes shut, and tried to make himself believe he was alone, he was talking to himself, he was doing nothing wrong. “I’m the Potter’s secret keeper,” he said.

The other laughed, “Tell me more,” it invited.


End file.
